Thinking Face
by TerrifiedOfButterflies
Summary: Hermione and Ron aren't children anymore.  Short oneshot.   Romantic but not sexual.


Is this what it means to be adult? Hermione thought to herself. Is this what it means to be grown?

She was laying on her left side, facing Ron, as the two of them lay in his bed. Her gaze flickered over Ron's face, finding comfort in his clear blue eyes. She laughed as they stared at each other, she couldn't help it. She spent so much of her time smiling these days, so much laughter. Ron's lips curled with delight at the sound of her giggle. He lifted a hand to brush the hair from her face, his fingers traced down her neck and across her shoulders. She shuddered as they found their way across her bare arms, before locking with her fingers.

She loved this, all of it. She loved holding his hand, she loved smiling, she loved... everything else that happened in his bed. No joy could compare to the feeling of his warm breath on her neck. No one else was capable of this kind of elation, how could they be?

"You're thinking," he said out loud. Hermione blushed.

"Yeah, I was... How did you know?"

"You have a thinking face."

"A thinking face?"

"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly, "your eyes sort of... focus. Like a daydream, but more... sharper. You look so... present. I suppose that doesn't make any sense," he laughed, "it's like you're here, but you're gone."

"Oh, I'm sorry..."

"No, no! I like it... It's you."

Hermione blushed again, looking down at their hands. His fingers were bent, holding onto her hand with strength. Hers were softer, less firm. It represented them, she thought. Where she was more timid, he was strong. He was her rock. She gave his hand a squeeze. They were almost symbiotic, Hermione and Ron. They were perfectly suited. They lived together, in a small rented flat in Diagon Alley. They both worked, they both had friends, they both had their own lives. But every night they came home, they had dinner and a glass of wine (or butterbeer), they spent some time reading or talking or doing something else, and then they would go to bed. Sometimes that entailed... pre-sleeping activities. Tonight was one of those times.

But this was the best part. The hand-holding, the cuddling. She was 23, almost 24, and she still found herself blushing at the thought of holding hands with her ginger boy! They'd been friends since childhood, but his mannerisms still took her by surprise. A little smile, an extra bounce in his step while walking from room to room, everything he did surprised her. He was so... new. Every day, every little thing was brand new and yet she felt like she knew him completely.

And he knew her just as well. Ron loved Hermione. Every bone in his body loved her so much, sometimes he thought it might kill him. He knew the way her hair curled, the pattern of the freckles on her nose. He knew exactly how far apart her hips were, not by measurement but by feel. Hermione didn't know, but sometimes he physically ached without her. Not a lot, just a little. He would be doing paperwork and then, all of a sudden, he'd miss her. He would be keenly aware that she wasn't next to him. It was less a feeling of loss or pain, it was more like he became aware that they were separated. He loved that he could smell her on him. Her scent must have rubbed off on him or his clothes... or something. He could sense her, sometimes more consciously than himself.  
>He loved her laugh. He liked to be silly, to do something stupid or weird, and then he would look at her with one eyebrow cocked and a big stupid grin and he'd listen to her laugh at him. She would giggle and her arms sort of collapsed into her sides. She'd shake her head from side to side and go back to whatever she was doing. Sometimes it was doing a little dance across the kitchen as she cooked, or saying something funny. He loved provoking her in that way, teasing her into a fit of laughter. No one could laugh like Hermione. It was quiet but filled a room. It shook her whole body but she never lost her stance. It was better than a drug to him, and he loved feeling addicted to her.<p>

Ron shifted on the bed, sliding one arm beneath her waist. He pulled her closer and pushed himself closer. He felt her skin rub against his, he gently rubbed his foot against her ankle. She giggled, and he sighed.

"Hermione," he said, pausing.

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking."

"Did it hurt?"

"Oh shut up!" The two laughed, leaning into each other. "I'm being serious."

"Ok." Hermione cleared her throat, and looked into his eyes.

"I've been thinking... that we're ready."

"Ready? For what?"

"For this." Ron pulled a small ring from his pocket. "It's not much, it belonged to my Great Aunt Tessie. But I think... I think it fits you."

Hermione yanked her hands to her mouth, sitting bolt upright on the bed. Ron slowly pushed himself up. He gently took a hold of her left wrist, pulling it down. He slid the ring over her fourth finger. It was perfect. A simple gold band, with a pattern of winding leaves. Instead of a diamond, there sat a little golden flower, partially open.

A few tears fell from Hermione's eyes. Her right hand wiped them away, she sniffled softly. "Ron... it's beautiful."

"I love you Hermione. I want to spend every minute of my life with you. Will you... will you marry me?"

There was a short pause, but to Ron it felt like a lifetime.

"Yes... Yes, yes, yes!"

Ron threw his arms around her and she grabbed him right back. She buried her face in his neck, and he felt tears rolling down his face. As they untangled themselves, Hermione laughed.

"You're crying!"

"Bloody hell... Am not," Ron said as he wiped away the tears. "besides, you are too!"

"I'm supposed to cry, I've just been proposed to."

"Well I've just proposed, doesn't that make us fair?"

"I guess," Hermione said as she wiped her eyes, "but I'm still going to tease you about it."

"That's fine," he said, scooting closer to her, kissing her on the forehead, "I would expect nothing less of the future Mrs. Weasley."

"Who said I'm taking your name? This isn't the dark ages, Ronald." Hermione teased, planting a small kiss on Ron's lips.

"Well then I guess I'll just have to be Mr. Granger," he said between kisses. "One of us has to quit being stubborn."

"I love your stubbornness."

"And I love you," he said, kissing her on the nose and watching her eyes crinkle up, "now we both have to get up early tomorrow. Let's get some sleep." One hand around her waist, the two laid down, sliding underneath the covers. Hermione turned around, pressing her back up against his chest.

"Goodnight, Mr. Weasley."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Granger."

"Hmm, I think I liked yours better."

"Ah. Then goodnight, Mrs. Weasley. mmm, that sounds good."

"It does, doesn't it?" Hermione mumbled sleepily. She drifted to sleep in his arms, Ron following right behind.

"Missus.. Weez..ley... Mmm..."


End file.
